


Sherlollipops - Raining Queen

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [143]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining in his mind palace, where all roads seem to lead to Molly Hooper, but why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Raining Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016 (it's a thing on tumblr by sherlollyandspoilers, check it out!)
> 
> Canon Compliant: Queen of the Mind Palace
> 
> Non-Canon/Headcanon: Caught In the Rain
> 
> I somehow managed a mash-up of the two Sunday March 6 prompts. *Shrugs* Enjoy?

The rain caught him off guard; there was never any _weather_ in his mind palace, no sense of temperature either hot or cold, no wind, and definitely no rain.

Yet here it was, raining in his mind palace. Why?

He’d gone in search of a memory, chasing down the final piece of evidence he needed, some scrap of overheard conversation that would put the final nail in the Moriarty imposters’ (yes, _imposters_ plural) proverbial coffin.

None of it had anything to do with rain, of that he was certain.

Oh.

No wonder it was raining.

He’d somehow or other chased down the wrong memory. Instead of finding his way to the cheap Hungarian restaurant where he’d overheard that scrap of conversation, he was instead standing outside of Angelo’s. In the rain. Watching the laughing couple seated near the window as they raised their glasses and clinked them together before each taking a sip.

Their eyes never left one another, and so they never saw him.

But he saw them; apparently he would always see them this way. Molly Hooper and her new boyfriend, a fellow pathologist who was even more boring and ordinary than the one she’d stabbed with her fork at John and Mary’s wedding. Meat Dagger. The ex-fiancé.

Tom! That was his name.

“Damn it!” Sherlock snapped back to awareness as the words left his lips. The memory was one he’d tried over and over again to delete, but as with everything else about Molly Hooper, it stubbornly refused to go. He’d long since given up on trying to understand why that might be (although there was a part of him that already knew which he refused to acknowledge) and simply avoided anything that might remind him of her when deep in his own mind.

The problem was, she’d seeped into every part of his mind palace, even parts that had nothing whatsoever to do with her. And the real-world weather wasn’t helping; he could hear it now, the rain pattering against the windows, the only sound in the otherwise silent flat besides his agitated breathing.

Agitated because of one person and her ever-expanding influence over his mind palace.

“She rules over it like a bloody queen,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head to try and clear it.

“Come again?”

He turned his head so fast his neck gave an audible crack. He’d been alone in his flat, or thought he was, when he’d gone into his mind palace.

But he wasn’t alone now. As if conjured by his thoughts, Molly Hooper sat on the sofa opposite him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, knowing he was being rude but trying desperately not to care.

“You texted and asked me to meet you here,” she said with a small shrug. “Said it was about the case, that you needed me for something. When I got here I rang but you didn’t answer so Mrs. Hudson let me in and I saw you were, well, thinking, so I figured I’d wait.”

He cast his mind backwards; had he actually done that, texted her? His mobile was sat on his lap, and when he swiped the screen, there it was, the last text he’d sent. To Molly.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the thing is...”

“Have you solved it, then? Do you know who’s behind this? Is it a woman?” At his blank expression she added, “Because you said ‘she rules over it like a bloody queen’ so I figured it must be...”

“She is you and it is my mind palace and tell me you’ve dumped what’s-his-name?”

The words came out in a rush, a veritable torrent and none of them were planned or calculated. When the weather and his own mind conspired against him, what chance did his tongue have of remaining under his control?

“Peter? What’s Peter...” Molly’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh God, Sherlock, don’t tell me Peter’s part of it!”

“Part of what? Part of the Moriarty scam? No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous. He’s just an idiot. An idiot who doesn’t deserve you. Tell me you’ve dumped him,” he repeated, a hint of desperation in his voice that translated into action; he jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of the sitting room.

“We only went on a few dates,” Molly said, sounding puzzled and cautious. He knew without looking at her that her expression would reflect the same emotions, along with a rising dread that he was using again.

“No drugs, I gave my word,” he snapped without slowing his agitated movements. “Just...tell me.”

“It was more of a mutual break up,” she replied, finally saying the words he’d been hoping to hear. “We had dinner at that nice Italian place John recommended, we both started to tell each other that we thought we’d be better off as friends, had a laugh and a toast to friendship...it was raining that night, too.”

He closed his eyes as relief flooded through him, finally allowing him to stop, to just stand there and breathe. He heard Molly moving, walking toward him, and smiled at the feel of her hand on his shoulder. “Sherlock? What’s going on? What did you mean when you said she was me and it...”

“It’s my mind palace,” he finished for her. He reached up and covered her hand with his own. “You, Molly Hooper, much to my surprise, have gone from being one of my mind’s few permanent residents to ruling over it like a queen.”

“I’m a distraction, then,” she said, starting to pull her hand away. He tightened his grip and turned to face her.

“No,” he said softly, reaching up to curl the fingers of his other hand around her chin. “You’re not, actually. At least, not now that I’ve stopped resisting you.” He leaned down, hesitating until he saw the understanding - and delight - in her warm brown eyes, the smile on her lips. Lips that met his as she raised herself up to give the silent permission he needed to complete the kiss.

“So now what?” she asked quietly as the kiss ended. A clap of thunder sounded, causing her to jump and giggle a bit in embarrassment.

“Now we solve the case,” he said, pulling her close and dropping another kiss to her lips. “I know who’s behind it all, and I know how to find them. And all because it was raining in my mind palace.”

Molly giggled again, clearly not understanding, but that was fine; he didn’t expect her to. Not until he could triumphantly explain it all to her after it was over and done with. “Call John and tell him to meet me and Gary at the Hungarian place on Porter Street. He’ll know which one. I’ll take you there after we’ve made the arrest, you’ll love their pörkölt, now where is my - ah, got it!” He grabbed his mobile and began quickly punching in a text to Lestrade.

Molly sighed and shook her head, but obediently pulled out her own mobile and called John while Sherlock dashed around the flat, pulling on socks and shoes and his Belstaff and scarf. He paused by the door, listening as Molly repeated his instructions to John, waiting to catch her eye before offering her a saucy wink and hurrying on his way.

“I’ll message you when it’s safe to join us!” he called as he dashed down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson will be happy to make you some tea in the meantime!”

Then he was out the door and in the rain, waving down a taxi and smiling so hard his cheeks ached. The game was on; the imposters were about to get a very unpleasant surprise, and he knew exactly why Molly Hooper was the queen of his mind palace.

He’d be sure to tell her how much he loved her over dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> pörkölt is Hungarian beef stew


End file.
